


The October 2017 Fics

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: A little angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Joanlock - Freeform, platonic joanlocl, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: I took part in a daily prompt for writers  in October of last year -inktober for writers. There are not quite a month's worth of fics here (I write other things on occasion); some are drabbles and some are full blown fics.Note: I lost all of the fics I have ever posted to tumblr. In a moment of unfathomable stupidity I deleted five years worth of posts. I am searching through my writing files and ferreting them out as best I can and placing them here grouped by year and month. Yes, I will be spamming the tag. I apologize.





	1. Searching

10/1/17, 11:30 AM   
Searching

She tried to ignore him, turned on her side and covered her head with her pillow. It didn't work. "Why are you rummaging through my closet ... this time?"

"Looking for a tie," came his muffled answer. 

"They're grouped by size and color on a rack at the far left...."

"Ah! Thank you. .... This will be lovely ..."

She lifted the pillow in time to watch him walk past the bed with her turquoise bow tie in hand.

"Why do you need a tie?" She sat up. "You don't wear ties."

"Not for me..... for Clyde..." he called over his shoulder as he exited the room.

"Oh." She flopped back onto her pillow and went back to sleep.


	2. Barefoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunt Viv's funeral.

10/2/17, 11:19 AM 

2\. Barefoot

"You're not ready! Where are your socks and shoes? Why are you barefoot?" Joan put on her coat as she scolded him.

"The cast of the footprints found at the Schlesinger murder arrived. You remember... the cold case I was telling you about last week. I was comparing my ...."

Joan raised a hand to stop what was sure to be a lengthy lecture on toe length as indicative of mathematical acumen. She'd heard it before. "You said you wanted to come with me to my aunt's funeral. If you do, we need to leave now to get there on time. If not, it's fine, you don't have to go. I can...."

"No, no ..." Sherlock put down the plaster cast and sat to put on his socks and shoes. "I'm coming. Won't take a second ..."

Joan looked askance at his sock choice, bright lavender with tiny cartoon bats flying in spirals upward. "You're wearing those?"

Sherlock reached for his shoe. "Yes. She liked these, your aunt. She complimented me on them the last time we saw her."

Joan looked down and took a moment to stop the tears from forming. Aunt Viv had taken a shine to Sherlock from the moment they met. She was a kindred spirit, well into her late 80s and still enthused about life and all it's oddities. 

Sherlock stood before her, "Okay?"

A quick look up at him, a shared breath taken and Joan was back to herself. "Yes. Let's go.... we don't want to arrive late and face my mother's wrath."

He opened the door for her, "Your mum would never be cross with me." 

She couldn't argue with his cheeky smile. There was no denying it, Watson women seemed to have a weakness for his (sometimes) charming ways.


	3. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cousin Laura stops by

Warmth

Sherlock took the offered basket of baked goods with the same care he took retrieving evidence at crime scenes. 

"I'll start the tea, shall I?" He arranged his features in what he thought was a manner pleasant enough to pass for a smile. To those unfamiliar with his ways, the expression held more of a kinship to "I just stepped in dog poo and I don't know what to do" than it did to any pleasantry.

"Thank you." Joan shot him a private amused look and then turned her attention to her cousin. "So, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?" Arms folded, she stood over the woman, expressionless, and waited. Laura was not one of her favorite cousins or favorite anything else for that matter. At best, she was a gossip and a know it all. Laura had made it clear on several occasions how disappointed she was with Joan's life choices - a decent woman would be married with a child or two by now.

"My, my ... talk about warmth. You and Lurch really need to work on your hospitality." Oh yeah, and she was rude and insensitive - how could she have forgotten. 

Joan took a pace or two away from her. "What do you want Laura? Why are you here?"

Laura shook her head, "Joan, Joan, Joan. We're family. I just thought I'd check in with you and make sure you were okay, make sure the boyfriend was treating you right. He seems a bit of an odd duck ..." She looked over her shoulder to make sure Sherlock wasn't behind her. "Uncle Henry has told me some stories ..." she widened her eyes and shook her head. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Drugs, unsavory women, strange rituals ... if you need help, just say so. We'll get you out of here, keep you safe."

"You know Laura ...." Joan bit her lip. She didn't know whether to laugh at her or scream. For the sake of family peace, she had taken a lot of verbal abuse from her cousin. A small contingent of the family had always looked down their nose at Joan and her mom, never considering them to be good enough to be true Watson women. Laura proudly headed that contingent. Joan stared at this holier-than-thou, middle-aged sorority girl and something snapped. "You know Laura, I've never liked you. Contrary to what you think, you have all the warmth and charm of a raw scallop. You twist things to fit you're own screwed up version of reality. Sherlock is family. He is a good, kind human being, with my best interests always at heart, more so than ..." Joan stopped herself. "I'm not doing this.... Unless you have something worthwhile to say, I'd like you to leave."

"Why, Joanie, you've gotten to be as cold and nasty a bitch as your mother." She sniffed out the words. 

A tap at her shoulder surprised her and she spun in her seat to find Sherlock standing behind her.

"Madam, and I use the term in its most pejorative and whorish sense, you were asked to leave. I advise you to do so immediately." 

A flustered Laura reached for her things, muttering to herself. "Trying to be nice was obviously a mistake...." 

"Obviously." Joan raised an eyebrow at her cousin, and arranged her features in "smile" reminiscent of Sherlock's earlier attempt. 

Sherlock escorted Laura to the door, "And please note that should I ever hear of one more negative word spoken by you about Joan or in particular, Mary, you will find out just how cold and nasty I can be." He glared at her and watched the woman exit, flustered and still muttering to herself. "You have been warned," he called out after her as he slammed the door.

Joan beamed at him, "You really do have a way with Watson women."

Sherlock offered her a true smile, "Come, tea is ready."


	4. A dónde está su

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is from an old Steve Martin SNL sketch ... it still makes me laugh and has nothing to do with this story except for the mention of the key item in the fic below ...

"Sherlock," Joan rounded the stairs and called out to him in the library.

Book in hand, he casually turned to face her, "Hmm?"

She strode towards him. 

..... What was that look on her face? Odd, she looked guilty but amused. Can someone look guilty and amused? Or was it happy and guilty ... definitely guilty ...Her body was relatively relaxed, no tenseness about the shoulders but ... 

Joan stopped in front of him, "You need to know that I have fallen in love ..."

.... Sirens wailed within his head. Battle stations!!! Synapses jumped and missed their mark and scrambled for better positions to try again. Thoughts raced in circles bumping into each other ... He knew it!he knew it!she was leaving again!he should have told her years ago he loved her and now look, look, it was too late!she was in love with, with whatever!she was leaving, and he'd never see her again and,and,and ... stop her ... STOP HER YOU DOLT! ... 

"WATSON!" His yelping her name did stop her in mid-sentence and she stood confused as his barely edited thoughts streamed out his mouth.

"Watson, we can work with this. Yes! He or, or, or she, or whatever, can move in with us.Yes?Plenty of room.Is this someone I know?its not Mycroft again?god no,no, of course not!are you sure about your feelings?we can all live together in a polyamory relationship without the -amory from me.I swear to you I won't interfere.Stay, don't go.I will keep myself under strict control... he, she, it, need never know how much I lo..."

Joan placed a hand on his arm to stop him further embarrassing himself. She looked into his terror stricken eyes and spoke slowly and calmly, "I ... have fallen in love ... with your new shampoo, the mint basil one. It smells and feels divine and I've been using it."

Sherlock took a very slow blink and a shaky breath, before forcing his face into a neutral setting, "Oh, oh yes, of course ... I've noted the scent when you uhm ...of course, that's fine, please use as much as you like." He turned back to the book in his hand and walked away from her, in search of a dark corner that would allow him the privacy necessary to properly wallow in self-loathing and embarrassment.


	5. Confusion

7\. Confusion 

"Hmlo.." Sherlock, barely awake, only answered the phone to make it stop ringing.

"Sherlock? ... I thought I dialed Joan's number." 

The captain sounded confused and an exhausted Sherlock just wanted to go back to sleep. He reached over and pushed on Joan's shoulder with the phone. "Watson... sweetheart ...." Joan stirred. "It's for you." He handed her the phone, snuggled down next to her and shut his eyes. 

A confused Joan looked at him and the phone and then at him again before setting the phone on the chair by her bed. She grabbed the covers, brought them up around her neck and his and went back to sleep.

Captain Gregson called out her name a couple of times and squinted at his own phone before hanging up. "I think they were asleep..."

Bell didn't even look up to answer, "It's five in the morning on a Sunday.... only natural." He carefully moved the lapel on the victim's jacket. "God knows that's what I'd be doing if you hadn't called," he muttered.

"I guess.... tho' that sweetheart thing was kinda weird."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes the "sweetheart" thing is out of character BUT I can somehow see Sherlock using the endearment in a half sleep state. Plus, I've seen JLM use it and just seems kind of natural.
> 
> And yes, this is yet another installment of one of my favorites: answering each other's phone while sleeping together. I first used this in I think the second or third fic I ever wrote and I've come back to it like a familiar chord a hundred times since then


	6. Family

Carrying two full oversized tote bags and a backpack, Sherlock stood at the entrance to the alley. It reeked of stale urine and decay. A neon sign buzzed at the far entrance, bathing the grease slicked bricks and mounds of trash in a weak green light; obscuring more than it illuminated. 

As his eyes acclimated, he spotted the two small huddled figures and made his way towards them. 

"Thank you for coming," Joan stood and took the bags from his hand.

Sherlock stared at the frail old man. "How is he?"

Joan pulled a fuzzy plaid blanket from one of the totes and snapped it open. "He is obstinate." With care, she placed the blanket around the old man.

"Much like his daughter." She let the comment slide and Sherlock kneeled beside them, opening the backpack and removing a thermos container.

"He refuses to budge...." she fussed with the blanket. "He won't go to a shelter or come home with us ... I told him temps are going to drop to almost freezing tonight." 

She pulled a small pillow from the tote and looked up at Sherlock who shrugged. "Thought it wouldn't hurt..."

She smiled and shook her head. "He says he'll be fine, has friends coming over later... " Joan tried to place the pillow behind her father's back but the old man reacted for the first time since Sherlock's arrival.

"No, Mary! I don't need it. I told you, I'm fine." He pushed the pillow back into Joan's hands.

Joan closed her eyes for a second; tears threatened as they had so many times since she found him late this afternoon.

Sherlock watched the interaction, realizing the toll her father's illness took on Joan's heart. He poured steamy thick liquid into a wide thermos cup, "I suppose calling Marcus is out of the question, have him arrested on some bogus charge? Hmm?" He handed Joan the soup. "Careful its very hot... " Sherlock pulled out a spoon from the bag's side pocket. "At least he'd spend the night somewhere warm." He looked hopefully at her.

"I can't do that to him." She stirred the soup, blowing on it to cool it off. "I've gone over and over all the options, and for tonight this is the least intrusive. I don't want to cause him any more pain. I'll just spend the night with him here, make sure he stays safe ..." Joan tried the soup to check its temperature before turning to her father. "Dad ... do you want me to feed you or can you..."

"I'm not an invalid Joanie." He gruffly took the soup from her hands and this time Sherlock found his eyes beginning to tear up for her.

He blinked and cleared his throat, "Alright then, we will make the best of it." Joan sat back up against the wall and watched Sherlock pull out a couple more blankets, several wool hats, extra socks, and hand warmers, stacking them neatly on top of the empty tote.

Her father finished his soup and handed the cup back to Joan. He then adjusted his blanket around himself, laid down on his side and resting his head on a small pile of old newspapers and closed his eyes. 

Sherlock pulled out more thermos containers, "What would you like, Watson? Soup, coffee, hot chocolate? I have sandwiches as well."

Joan had to smile, "I'm fine for now. Thank you. I'll call you if we need anything else."

He unfolded a blanket and laid it on top of her before sitting down next to her. "No need to call, I'll be right here."

Joan started to protest, this was her problem not his, but stopped herself. She didn't want him to go; she was relieved to have the help. She reached over and spread her blanket over him as well. "Thank you."


	7. Honor

10\. Honor

The decision to operate was made. Head once again shaven, he lay on the hospital gurney awaiting transport. Joan stood by his bedside. His eyes searched her face but he said nothing. Their fear was palpable. Each had so much they needed to say just in case ... but neither wanted to acknowledge what might happen in the next few hours. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Joan bent over him, her hand on his chest, her mouth at his ear, she whispered, "I've never said the words, but I've held them in my heart for a very long time ... I love you and I will love and honor you now and for all the days of my life."

He turned his head to caress her with the side of his face; his hand firmly holding hers on his chest. Sherlock's whisper brushed against her cheek, "I love you."

Joan heard someone outside the room's door and she reluctantly stood. She wiped the tears from his face and then hers. Eyes locked on each other as the orderly entered, introduced himself, unlocked the gurney.

The orderly noticed. "You two need a minute before we start down the hall?"

"No, we're fine." Joan answered for both of them. Sherlock smiled at her as he was wheeled away.


	8. Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is tiny but I have a particular fondness for it.

She seasons her popcorn with vigor, with anger, regret, bitterness. He leaves for his exercise date. She wishes she could follow suit, allow herself the freedom to act as she pleases. No worries about what others might think, no fear of repercussions, no thought of anyone but herself ... her pleasure, her needs ... just her. But she was swaddled in sackcloth at birth and given her mantra: in all circumstances you come in second.

She picks up the bowl and heads upstairs. She will consume each oversalted kernel, swallow the loneliness, let the dry guilt scrape the back of her throat.


	9. Foolish

13\. Foolish

 

"I need to speak with you." Sherlock's staccato-like steps alerted her to his mood almost as much as clipped words. Joan turned and faced him; arms crossed before her, she was ready for battle.

"While I appreciate your loyalty and friendship, I sincerely wish you would stop defending me."

Confused, her posture became less defensive as she tried to figure out what he was talking about. Sherlock didn't give her time to ask, "This afternoon I heard you berating one of the precinct secretaries who mocked my posture and speech patterns. I have seen Raul's boorish impersonation of my physical quirks on various occasions and others seem to be quite amused...."

"Oh!" Joan now understood what he was getting at and started getting mad all over again. "Raul deserved it. He was being cruel and spiteful with no understanding of who you are or the work you do. I merely educated him and told him to go sing the alphabet and get back to his filing. He had no business making fun of you."

"Raul is just one more, an insignificant ... a faint beep in the cacophony of lifelong abuse provided me by family, peers, superiors and inferiors. People mock and bully that which they don't understand out of fear. I have faced this since early childhood. I am used to the ridicule Watson. It does not bother me."

Her hand at her sides now were clenched. "Well, it bothers me. It bothers me a lot. I won't stand for anyone in my presence abusing you. I don't understand why you are upset with me, I am trying to protect you ..."

He turned away towards the fire place and took a breath. "I don't want to see you to get hurt because of me. I am immune to the foolish impersonations and foul insults of these miscreants ... in many ways I am there kin. But you, you are not ... and it will break me if I have to watch them hurt you."

Joan once more folded her arms before her, and looked down, speaking softly. "I've had my share of abuse. I am a woman of color ... a small Chinese female in fields of work dominated by men, white men in particular, who see no worth to me and have told me as much. I've already been hurt Sherlock. You don't have to worry about me."


	10. Intimacy

Intimacy

"You've not eaten in over twelve hours. You are going to eat this hot dog."

"Those things are disgusting..."

"Says the man who eats moose cheese and rancid shark meat." Joan paid the vendor and squeezed mustard on the dog.

"Yes, but those items have qualities that the common street sausage ..." Sherlock tried to argue as she raised the bun to his lips. 

"Open." She commanded. He took a bite. It wasn't bad. He took it from her hand as they walked. Joan took a pleased sip from the soda she'd bought herself. 

Sherlock took another big bite and offered her the rest. "Here. Eat." She'd eaten just slightly more than he had in the same time period. They traded off, soda for hot dog and kept walking, rehashing the details of the case.

 

\----------

"You're neck is bothering you again." As usual, Sherlock stated rather than asked. 

Reviewing stacks upon stacks of files wasn't helping ease the pain. Joan bent her head forward and slightly rotated her neck trying not to wince. He quietly stood. She gathered her hair and moved it forward over her shoulder.

He placed his hands gingerly on her nape; stroking down at first and then moving his thumbs in small circles. "You should go home. Marcus and I can get through these." Sherlock kneaded at her shoulders more forcefully, eliciting grunts of pain and relief from her.

"I'll be fine." She stifled a gasp as he hit a particularly tender spot. 

He winced in sympathy, bending closer to her, he whispered, "Sorry." His fingers stroked the spot lightly as if to make amends, gently straying up into her hair, "I'll get some ibuprofen from Marcus, hmm?"

She patted his hand on her shoulder. "Thanks."


	11. In sickness and in health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following is seven days worth of prompted stories made into one. For convenience, I've put them all in one post and hope it works. It's long.

1

Joan walked over to where Sherlock stood staring at the wanted posters on the precinct board. She stood a discreet distance away and spoke without looking at him, "They're staring at us? Why are they staring?"

"I noted the looks. I've been observing them and they seem quite pleased about ... something." Sherlock answered, still blankly staring at the wanted poster for one James John, murderer.

"Do you think they know? How could they possibly?" Joan snuck a peek over her shoulder. Marcus and the Captain were watching them with huge smiles on their faces.

"Perhaps we are just ..." Sherlock followed Watson's gaze and scowled at the expressions on their co-workers' faces.

Both turned back to the bulletin board. "They know," Sherlock stated and Joan nodded in agreement. 

2

They watched and waited. Marcus perched on the end of the desk grinning. The Captain stood behind him, coffee cup in hand, trying to contain his own smile. 

Sherlock and Joan whispered some more in front of the precinct bulletin board before turning and walking up to their co-workers. "If you have nothing further for us, Watson and I will be on our way."

Gregson nodded, "Sure, sure go ahead. Take some time. I'm sure you have a lot of plans to make."

Sherlock squinted and Joan shifted her weight from foot to foot, but they said nothing else. 

The Captain turned to Marcus, "Hey, I got a call from Robin this morning. You remember my friend Robin, don't you?

"You mean the village clerk at Tarrytown?" Marcus looked right at Joan and Sherlock as he spoke, tilting his head at them.

"Yes. That's the one."

Marcus grinned, "Did you know that? The Captain and Robin, the village clerk at Tarrytown, went to school together, still friends.... always swapping stories. Hey, did you know village clerks can marry people?" Marcus feigned surprise.

Sherlock wiped at his face with both hands, while Joan threw her head back and stared up for a second. "Okay then ... so much for keeping this between us."

"I'm sorry Watson. An obvious miscalculation on my part. We should have driven further north."

 

3

 

"Okay. Fine. You found us out. Sherlock and I got married. Do you want a commendation for your fine detective work?" Anger flickered behind every word she spoke. 

The smile fade a little from Bell's face, but he kept teasing, "Nah, we're just hurt we weren't invited." He looked at Holmes, "You were just afraid she'd change her mind and whisked her away, huh?" Bell's words were met with a blank stare.

The Captain spoke from behind him, "Congratulations. We're happy for you, perhaps a little surprised. Doesn't seem like something you two would..."

"Thank you." Joan bit at the words. 

Sherlock spoke up, "We wished to protect our private lives from scrutiny, privacy is important to us for a variety of reasons. We would prefer this information not spread any further." 

Gregson nodded, "Certainly."

Joan turned to Bell, "For the record, no one was whisked and I don't appreciate the implication." She turned and walked away.

"Joan, come on ..." Marcus called out after her.

"If you'll excuse us." Sherlock followed her.

 

Marcus followed after them to try and make amends. From the doorway he watched as Sherlock caught up to her outside the building and placed a hand on her shoulder. He wiped at her face and comforted her. Joan placed her arms around his waist and dropped her head onto his chest. Gregson came out and stood beside Bell in time to watch something they never thought could happen. Holmes and Watson shared a kiss, albeit a small one, on the precinct's sidewalk. 

\------  
Flashback - Several days prior:

"Marry me."

Sherlock turned off the kitchen faucet and reached for a towel. "Alright. Let me get my jacket."

Joan leaned against the counter. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Sherlock assured her. He rolled down his shirt sleeves. "Is this an urgent need? Have I left you with child?" He buttoned the cuff and glanced up at her.

Joan smirked, "No. I think we've been sufficiently careful..."

"Yes, well ... there was that supply room incident." He arched his brows and quirked his mouth, happy to get an embarrassed head shake and eye roll from her. Sherlock was reasonably sure he knew what this was about. Both sleeves rolled down and buttoned he moved to stand before her. "It's your surgery, isn't it?"

Joan's face confirmed his suspicions. 

He said for her the words he repeated to himself whenever fear overcame him. "The tumor is isolated. The cancer appears to not have spread. The procedure is simple ..." 

"Mr. Castoro's procedure was a simple one as well." She challenged him with her eyes. 

"Watson, don't...."

"I was a surgeon, Sherlock. I know the risks. I want you by my side. I want you and no one else making decisions. And if we are married, there will be no questioning your authority to make those decisions."

The weight of her words fell about his shoulders, rooting him to the spot, forcing possibilities on him he did not want consider. 

Joan continued, "I'm not telling anyone about this. I don't want questions or sympathy from family or friends." 

Sherlock nodded. "I understand."

"I know this is a horrible burden I'm placing on you," her eyes brimmed with tears, "but I just need you to do this for me, please." 

He moved closer to her, fingertips reaching for her, needing to touch and keep her with him. "Of course. Whatever you want." 

Tears ran down her cheeks and she embraced him. "Thank you."

 

4

"Mr. Holmes?" He jumped. "You may see your wife now if you'd like." The waiting room receptionist smiled at him. Poor man, for hours now he had had the look of a lost puppy - waiting, pacing, staring balefully at the door with not one soul to keep him company. 

Sherlock nodded his thanks to her as he moved swiftly past her. The doctor had spoken to him when Watson first came out surgery, pending lab results, she was very optimistic that the cancer had not spread. But he needed to see her for himself. 

Joan lifted her head and smiled.

He stood by the side of her bed and discreetly stroked her fingertips with his. Married or not, affection was a private matter between them. 

"I just lied to your mother for the third time today. I expected the crow of a cock this last time."

Joan smiled and then grimaced. "What did you tell her?"

"We are working a very messy case upstate where your medical expertise is being of the utmost help to the local constabulary. Also, you lost your phone somewhere in the crime scene underbrush while searching for clues."

"Did she believe you?"

"The tone of her voice reeked of disbelief. She did not flat out accuse me of lying but the implication was there."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could have spared you all this."

"Watson, you are lying in a hospital bed after surgery; I was merely uncomfortable in telling a lie. If wishes were things that had any affect on the course of one's life, wishing for you not to have to have gone through any of this would be a much better use of its function."

He locked his fingers between hers. "Besides, your mother merely wanted to share familial gossip from your cousin Ira's wedding. She said she knew how much you had wanted to attend."

"Hmm I don't have a cousin Ira." Joan smiled and winced again. She thought for a moment. "You know, I think she purposefully lied to you ... may be trying to catch you in a lie..."

Sherlock frowned as he mentally replayed his last conversation with Mary. "Bugger. Sneaky old woman. ...And here I was feeling badly about lying to her." 

5

 

Breakable

She wasn't stupid. Mary understood she had days when things slipped away, when memories became translucent clouds that overlapped, transformed and sometimes disappeared altogether ... but she wasn't so gone yet that she didn't know when she was being lied to. And that boy was lying to her about her daughter. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones. She could hear it in Sherlock's voice, a sadness she'd not heard before. 

As of late, Joan pretended to unbreakable. Nothing was ever wrong, everything was fine. The phone calls lasted a few scant minutes and invitations were brushed aside, excuses made, something more important always came up. Mary wondered if Joan was trying protect her from something truly horrible or if she had just lost her daughter's love. 

She wiped at her face and sighed, the phone heavy in her hand. Texts, calls, emails, all went unanswered and Sherlock was of no use. He did whatever Joan asked of him. 

Mary needed to know where and how her daughter was and would not stop until she spoke to her. She picked up the phone once more and dialed. Captain Gregson. He had daughters; he would understand. 

6

Keeping anything a secret is difficult particularly so when you have police detectives for friends and a mother who worries. Mary Watson's call to Captain Gregson set off a series of calls, interviews and an investigation that led straight to Joan's hospital door. 

Sherlock fended them off as long as he could... she's fine .... she's healthy ....she's being released today .... she does not want any visitors ... yes, Mary, go ahead in ...

No one, not even Sherlock Holmes keeps Mary Watson from her daughter.

He stayed out of the room for the duration of Mary's visit, only venturing in after she left and a nurse came in with Watson's meal.

Joan glared at him as he entered. Sherlock stood a reasonable distance from the bed. "I did the best I could Watson. You know your mum, she is a force to be reckoned with."

She conceded, "I know. That was a rough conversation we just had ..." she wiped at her eyes and adjusted the tray of food before her. "I think you should be the one to tell her we're married." 

He grimaced then smiled, "Perhaps we could get a divorce instead?


	12. The Falls

“For whatsoever from one place doth fall,   
Is with the tide unto an other brought:   
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.”

 

― Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene

 

He should have been the one. Not her, him. He should have fallen, smashed into a thousand pieces, so that no one ever could recreate the horror that he was. His monsters had taken her, twisted and struggled, until she fought no more. The undoing was all on him. She should be here. Please be here .... please. 

He once thought that she was merely the conductor ... he was abysmally wrong ...

she was light... 

light pure and unfiltered until he contaminated her. 

 

She took his place. She took his monster down with her ... he should have been the one to fall.


	13. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one for October.

Sherlock slammed the door shut, "This, by far, is the most loathsome of holidays." The singular remnant of their Halloween treats, a fun size Snickers, rattled in the large aluminum bowl in his hand. "Teaches children nothing other than to beg total strangers for sugar."

Joan leaned against the stairs' railing, "Come on Sherlock, its fun. Didn't you love to dress up as a kid and get candy for free?"

"I did not. We were Holmeses and no matter the age, the Holmes family, as repugnant and vile as it can be in other matters, the Holmes family never begs." With a sniff, he set down the bowl and turned off the outside light. 

"Hmm, that's interesting ... I seem to recall you doing some pretty intensive begging last night?" Joan smirked at him and walked towards the lock room. 

Sherlock took a beat as he remembered the previous night's entertainment. "That was altogether different." He followed after her, "That was a treat ... worth begging for."


End file.
